


I've Got Some Secrets I Forgot to Mention

by PardonMyManners



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Angst and Humor, BAMF Darcy, Darcy has a serious potty mouth, Drama & Romance, F/M, I'm basically ignoring Civil War, One Night Stands, Oral Sex, Pre-Civil War (Marvel), Romance, Slow Burn, Smut, Steve is in way over his head, guess this is technically AU now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-05 09:56:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6700285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PardonMyManners/pseuds/PardonMyManners
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After SHIELD goes down in politically scandalous flames apparently even lowly former interns are at high risk, but Darcy Lewis isn't about to take their crap lying down. Not this time. Wait... isn't that the guy she had a mind-blowing one night stand with a few years ago?</p><p>In which Darcy tries to get her shit together and the insanity that is Jane Foster's life keeps reeling her back in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Booze, Dancing, and Hot Dudes (NSFW)

**Author's Note:**

> Just a plot bunny that has been EATING MY SOUL for months. Couldn't be helped. Also, I figured we get some smut in early on so... enjoy. 
> 
> This may prove to be a long one, so I hope you folks are in for an interesting ride (pun intended?).

-

-

 

Young Darcy used to dream of traveling to New York City.

She used to dream about maybe even living there one day and, well, just being a New Yorker mostly --whatever that entailed. She hadn’t been the sort of kid to dream about being an astronaut or veterinarian or whatever. Direction in life is not something she’s ever had in spades –shitty shit luck on the other hand, well, she’s got plenty of  _ that _ . Running over a space god in the middle of the New Mexico desert had made that pretty damn clear and it’s been a rather twisted (and sometimes fun) downhill slide ever since.

Mostly she’d just imagined walking through the city in name brand heels like she owned the whole damn place, like the world was open and waiting at her feet in a way it definitely never had been before. Her mother had been obsessed with Sex in the City when Darcy was growing up and it  _ may  _ have left her with some unrealistic expectations.

Older Darcy, in New York City at last, is mostly jet lagged, pissed she isn’t allowed to travel with Jane to her big meeting with SHIELD despite being dragged across the country, and vaguely heartbroken over her recent breakup with Doucheface-Cheating-Ian. Which she will totally not admit to Jane because it’s been three months and she should be over it by now. One does not pine for a dude caught balls deep in another woman’s lady parts shortly after they’d gotten around to exchanging the ‘L’ word for the first time. It would be  _ super _ pathetic.

Blowing a loud raspberry, Darcy lays back on her huge bed in their super swanky hotel and throws a stress-ball toward the ceiling, catching it absently as it falls back toward her face. She’s also  _ insanely _ bored. Jane’s been gone for hours and the sun has set over the monolithic highrises. They’d left the private jet (super nice) for a private car (also super nice) to get to their fancy hotel (again, nice) and she hasn’t seen any more of the city than what had passed beyond super tinted windows (not so nice). Jane had promised they would hit the town for a few hours once her meeting was over but that’s starting to look less and less likely.

As if to confirm her fears, her cell phone buzzes on the bedspread beside her. It’s a text from Jane, of course.  

<< _ Meeting is still going, probably be a few more hours and Tony Stark has offered me a room at the tower. I want to check out his lab tomorrow morning before we leave so I think I’ll take him up on it. You should still go out! See the city! Drink too much on SHIELD’s dime! Also, they were not forthcoming on the whereabouts of your iPod… sorry. XOXO don’t haaaate me>> _

Darcy sighs long and loud and rolls over into the super soft blankets, taking a few moments to curse science and SHIELD and hunky space gods, before responding. She really needs to get less important, less sciency friends.

<< _ I understand not being able to pass up an opportunity to shit in Tony Stark’s super compensating tower full of X-men washouts and iPod jackers, but you totally owe me>> _

<< _ Drinks on me when we get back, and I won’t even bring my notes, I promise!>> _

Typical. Sooooo typical.

So, armed with a flashy new credit card courtesy of SHIELD, and dressed in a slinky black dress that seriously shows off the ladies with a pair of what Jane lovingly calls ‘hooker boots’, Darcy hits the town looking for a lot of drinks and maybe an easy lay. Nothing like whiskey and casual sex to leave a man behind, or so her freshman dorm mate had always insisted.  

Fortunately, the man who picks her up at the front of the hotel is more than happy to point her in the right direction. At least SHIELD is being classy about telling her she’s not smart enough or important enough to step inside their super-not-so-secret building.

“Booze, dancing, and hot dudes,” she tells her driver as she slides across leather seats, trying to behave as though she’s totally used to people picking her up in cars that probably cost more than her entire college education.

The driver smirks. “Yes ma’am.”

A short ride later they pull up outside a very fancy, very busy looking club with a seemingly endless line curving down the block. Darcy hesitates.

“Not sure they’re gonna let me into this place, but I appreciate your confidence in my appearance.”

The driver smiles at her in the rearview. He’s not much older than her but is  _ definitely _ a lot more polished. Darcy assumes he’s also some sort of undercover assassin capable of killing her in a matter of seconds. “This club is owned by Mr. Stark and your name is on the list, Miss Lewis. Just talk to the bouncer at the door.”

A slow smile spreads across her lips. Her annoyance at SHIELD is  _ definitely _ waning. “Well, in  _ that _ case, thank you very much for the ride, good sir.”

He chuckles lightly. “Have a pleasant evening, Miss Lewis, another car will be made available for you when you are ready to return to the hotel.”

Darcy adjusts her boobs and snorts as he gets out to open her door. People in the line are turning to look at her in curiosity.

“Don’t wait up,” she tells him with a wink as she steps out and, eager to get a few drinks into her bloodstream, she walks with as much confidence as she can manage to the bouncer and gives him her name. She can feel dozens of eyes on her, the girl at the front of the line in particular, as she sneers at Darcy with a clearly unimpressed once over. The bouncer checks his list and waves Darcy forward with a smile.

“Enjoy, Miss Lewis. Mr. Stark sends his regards and insists that your drinks are on the house,” he says and Blonde and Bitchy looks like she might choke on her tongue. Darcy feels pretty fucking cool, which is probably petty, but whatever, it’s been a shitty few months.

Thank yooooou Tony Stark. Maybe she should send him a fruit basket or something.

The club reeks of expense and gluttony, two things she’s always correlated with Tony Stark, but the DJ is pretty kickass and she’s down to spend a few hours pretending she’s someone important and loaded. Because as much as she loves Jane, she’s pushing twenty-five with a degree in Political Science burning a hole in her pocket, and she’s still just an intern too lowly to be important enough to attend a SHIELD meeting, which is doing a serious number on her self-esteem.

She knows it shouldn’t bother her. She’s not a scientist or a secret agent or a superhero. There’s really no reason for her to be at some super classified meeting about Thor and Asgard, aside from the fact that she was  _ there _ when the big loveable idiot landed and also that Thor is like the goofy (super-hot) older brother she never had.  God, she feels cagey and belligerent and she doesn’t like it. Doesn’t like how she feels as though her life has been carrying on without her as an active participant for waaaaay too long. It’s just her going through the motions of a life that isn’t really hers anymore and that royally sucks.

Fuck, she needs a drink  _ stat _ .

She presses her way through the crowd, a few curious and interested eyes darting her way, but she’s a woman on a mission. The flirting will come  _ after _ she’s gotten a few drinks in her to quell the mounting existential crisis she’s been avoiding for months.

Darcy orders two shots of top shelf whiskey, downing both quickly, and turns to watch with a great deal of amusement as a knockout redhead in towering heels shoves a muscled blonde in her direction. Their eyes meet as a path clears, and the guy, who is  _ seriously _ hot, blushes and ducks his head in embarrassment. Darcy decides to take pity on him.

“If I let you buy me a drink, think that will satisfy your friend?” she asks kindly, voice pitched high over the music, and she steps toward him to lightly place a hand on his arm. He’s wearing pressed slacks, a pale blue button up, and thick rimmed glasses with his hair parted carefully to one side. He looks more like an elementary schoolteacher than some overpaid executive, but it’s actually pretty charming and refreshing in their current environment. 

He looks nervous, eyes darting briefly toward her chest, which is actually kind of gratifying, but relaxes a bit at her words and offers a tentative smile. “It would probably go a long way to getting me out of here in the next hour.”

Darcy offers him a friendly wink. “Well, I’m willing to help a fellow out.”

He blushes and it’s pretty endearing. “Thank you, ah, ma’am.”

She tugs him gently toward the bar and orders more whiskey because, well, why not? When he tries to pay she just shakes her head and tosses him a wink. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with that until the bartender assures him it’s been taken care of.

Shot in hand, she asks, “This club that bad? I thought a place owned by Tony Stark would be pretty top notch.”

The guy flinches a little, but chuckles, hands shoved into his pockets, making the impressive muscles in his shoulders and arms bulge. Her throat goes a bit dry. Thankfully, there is whiskey.

“Not really my kind of place, some friends dragged me along.” He rubs at the back of his neck.

She holds up her shot glass. “Well, to making the best of things, eh?”

The smile on his face grows and Jesus, his eyes are blue. They sort of remind of her the sky back home, blue and guileless, but that’s borderline poetic and Darcy isn’t one for pontificating. Well, only when she drinks with Thor.

He grabs his glass and clinks it against hers, giving her an almost boyish smile. “To making the best of things.”

Feeling adequately buzzed, she boldly links her arms through his. He blinks down at her, clearly surprised and uncertain, but he doesn’t shake her off, which is a good sign. In fact, after a moment, he leans into her a little bit. Darcy’s pretty sure she’s never met a guy so beautiful and consequently so unsure of himself before. It may be her new favorite thing.

A quick glance about the immediate area doesn’t turn up his red-haired friend, which seems promising, and she wonders, almost absently, how hard it would be to convince him to fuck her senseless.

Booze, dancing, and hot dudes  _ indeed _ .

“So, think dancing with me will get you out of here any faster?” she breathes, looking up at him and smirking.

His eyes dart from her slightly parted, red painted lips, to her breasts pressed up against his arm. “Ah… I don’t really know how to dance.” He doesn’t sound precisely unwilling, however.

Darcy snorts and giggles a bit, hoping she’s not laying it on too thick. “Don’t worry, you mostly flail around like a dying bird or just, like, hump the air.” She points to a smartly dressed couple that are basically doing exactly what she’s just described.

He follows her finger and chuckles, shaking his head. He relaxes a bit, eyes glinting in the strobe lights. “God, it looks like she might snap her neck.”

“See,” she reasons, “we can’t  _ possibly _ look any stupider than they do. Besides, this is a  _ really _ good song.”

She makes a playfully pouty face and flutters her lashes in comical exaggeration at him. He gives her an amused and appraising look before deflating and muttering something that sounds like, “Nat better get off my back after this,” and lets her pull him toward the dance floor. Score one for low necklines and hooker boots.

It really  _ is _ a good song and Darcy has enough alcohol pumping in her veins and enough pent up anxiety rolling around in her head that she has very few inhibitions. She’s not a great dancer, not by a long shot, but every once in awhile it’s nice to just let go. To feel the music and let it move her, heedless of anything else.

The bass thumps into her chest as she grips his hand and leads him through the undulating bodies. The air is thick with expensive perfume, high end booze, and the inescapable tang of sweat, but his fingers are solid in hers and they, combined with the whiskey, give her the courage to pull him up against her. She can feel the tight lines of his body as he presses flush against her ass, but she starts to sway, and after a moment, he moves with her.

She isn’t sure what she expected, dragging her clearly reluctant dance partner out into the madness of the dance floor, but she has the clarity of mind to be mildly shocked when one large hand presses firmly against her hip and his head falls to nestle in her neck as he grinds against her. It’s been months and months since she felt well and truly sexy. Since she’s felt wanted and irresistible– to be honest, she’s not sure she’s  _ ever _ felt that way-- but maybe there’s something about New York or the music, because she feels a rush of sensual power shoot through her as she presses back against him and feels the stirrings of what seems to be a pretty impressive erection. One of his hands makes a stuttering pass up the curve of her waist, thumb brushing just under her breast before trailing down again and it draws a shudder he must be able to feel.  

They move well together, which is perhaps surprising, but her brain is too busy with other things, like the way he smells and the incredible heat he’s giving off, to give it too much thought. Darcy arches her neck back to rest on his shoulder as she rolls her spine and shimmies her ass in a way that she would swear later makes him literally  _ growl  _ against the sweaty skin of her neck. There’s sort of an unspoken understanding between their bodies. Something without pretense or complication, like maybe, just maybe, they both are in need of the same thing.

She barely notices that the song changes as she turns to face him, hyper sensitized breasts pressed tightly against his very broad, very strong chest. His eyes are dark as they watch her dip down his body and then slowly up again. A wicked smile curls at her lips as she rocks into him and his hands slide down and spasm against her ass. She licks her lips, watching him watch her, and presses up on her toes to whisper in his ear.

“Want to go somewhere quieter?”

She feels more than hears his sharp intake of breath and even through the haze of undeniable arousal and whiskey she’s suddenly mortifyingly embarrassed. She’s contemplating how swiftly she can extricate herself when he responds.

“Y-yeah, yeah I do.” His voice starts out uncertain but he ends strong, punctuating his words by using his grip on her ass to roll her against him again. Dude is  _ definitely _ packing. Her mouth actually waters, which is vaguely ridiculous, but it really has been a dry few months.  

Not to be outdone, Darcy pulls back, gives him a quick look, and kisses him. It takes him a heartbeat to respond, but when he does, well…  _ fuck _ . She distantly hopes he isn’t actually ruining kissing for all other men with the way he’s tangling his tongue with hers and the way one broad hand is thrust through her hair, anchoring her mouth to his. Because  _ damn _ , it sure feels like he is.

It’s his turn to lead  _ her _ as she attempts to reorient the world around her after he’d just so effortlessly and effectively turned it upside down, pulling her determinedly out of the sea of bodies. He’s clearly a man on a mission because they’re outside hailing down a cab before Darcy can even consider the consequences of her actions. He’s got one possessive hand on her lower back and her lipstick is smeared all over his face and it’s  _ super _ obvious what they’re doing but she really, really doesn’t care.

A bit of sense returns when the cabbie asks for an address. Darcy immediately blurts out the name of the hotel without even looking at the man seated next to her like a living time bomb. They take off, and before she can start hyperventilating, he puts a hand high on her thigh and she leans into him. Her breath hitches as his fingers trace in maddening little patterns higher and higher, briefly pressing between the apex of her thighs where she is certain she’s wet even through the silk of her panties.

She wants this, she definitely wants this.

“I’m Steve,” he breathes against the shell of her ear, making her shudder. Jesus, she could get off to the sound of his voice alone.

“Darcy,” she says, tilting her head in search of his lips. “Nice to meet you.”

-

-

Darcy isn’t a small woman.

Not like Jane, who is basically the definition of waifish and ethereal beauty. Darcy’s made of soft, generous curves and wide hips, but she might as well weigh nothing the way Steve lifts her up against the hotel door as soon as she kicks it shut behind them. She nearly orgasms on the spot as his hips roll into hers and his hand tugs lightly in her hair. One of her heels clatters to the floor and she moans into his mouth, her hands spearing through his hair as her tongue rubs wantonly against his.  

He fumbles his way through the hotel suite, which is like three times the size of her apartment in New Mexico, until Darcy pulls away and he sets her down. They’re both breathing heavily as she tugs him down the short hallway to her room, the city lights through the curtains bright enough to guide their steps.

The walk is just long enough for uncertainty to come creeping back. God, he could be an axe murderer, or worse, married.

She releases his hand once inside her room, which still has her shit scattered across it, and the bed looms in the space like a living breathing thing as she turns to face him in the half light. The expression on his face makes her feel a bit better. He looks about as uncertain as she feels.

“So, I know I seemed pretty confident and bold in the club, but I, well, don’t do  _ this _ ,” she waves a hand between them. “Often. Or ever, really. Which I know is what  _ everyone  _ says in this situation, but let’s just give each other the benefit of the doubt, eh?”

He quirks an amused smile, his eyes trained on her with the sort of intensity that might have been unnerving if it wasn’t so arousing. “Fair enough and, if it makes you feel any better I’ve never done this,” he mimics her hand motions between them. “Either.”

Darcy lifts a brow. “I hope you mean a one night stand and not, well, sex in general because as smokin’ hot as you are, I’m not sure how I feel about stealing your V card.”

Steve frowns at her for a moment as if he doesn’t quite understand her –so maybe he’s a bit beef cakey, with biceps like his, it’s warranted—and then it seems to click because he’s flushing and his hands are shoved back into his pockets. “Ah, no, I meant this one night stand… thing. I won’t lie and say I’ve had a lot of well… you know… but no, I’m not a virgin.”

God, he’s adorable.

“Take off your shirt.” She totally blames the whiskey, a dull burn in her gut that mingles with her desire until it’s hard to separate the two.

He blinks at her owlishly for a moment, clearly as surprised as she is by the outburst, but dutifully starts unbuttoning his shirt. Music from Magic Mike plays faintly in her head before thinking becomes totally impossible.

“Jesus Christ, you’re like… airbrushed or something!” she accuses as the shirt falls and heat rushes up her chest to burn in her cheeks. She could cut  _ diamonds _ on the ridges of his six pack.

He coughs, embarrassed as he waves a hand at her. “Your turn.”

“Fuck  _ that _ ,” she chokes out and paces back a step. “Not with all that going on. No way.”

He laughs, his gaze still wonderfully concentrated as he reaches up to take off his glasses and sets them on her nightstand. The lack of spectacles gives him an almost roughish edge as he turns back to her, muscles seriously  _ rippling _ as he moves.

“Having second thoughts, doll?” There’s a challenge in his tone, and Darcy secretly loves a challenge. Wait, doll? Who says  _ doll _ anymore? Darcy really didn’t know or care because it’s definitely working for her.

Girding her loins for a second, because seriously, she cannot compete with those abs, she shifts her hair over one shoulder and turns her back to him. “Help me with the zipper, big guy?”

She can hear him swallow and senses his hesitation, but a moment later he’s drawn the zipper down and, with a little shimmy, the dress falls to pool at her feet. His subsequent inhale is both sharp and gratifying as his hands fall to her hips.

“Damn, these look amazing against your skin,” he murmurs, tracing the lacey curve of her black thong along her hip.

She bites her lip and leans back against him. “Bet they look better off.”

With an honestly impressive snap of his wrist, Steve has her up against his chest and his mouth latched onto hers with a familiar desperation. It’s like on the dance floor, their bodies in synchronization, seeking the same heat, the same release, except a million times better. She moans shamelessly and throws her arms around his neck as he lifts her easily into his arms. He takes two steps and lays her gently across the bed, but she lifts a hand as he tries to follow after her. Breathless and vibrating with desire, she gestures down where an erection looms shamelessly from his slacks.

“Pants, off, now.”

His chuckle is dark and smooth as he unclasps his belt.

Riding her confidence while it lasts, Darcy sits up to remove her bra, letting it slide down her arms before tossing it swiftly aside. The action seems to short circuit his brain because he totally freezes, his eyes fastened reverently to her bared tits. She decides to help him out by unbuttoning his pants and, hooking his briefs under her fingers, slides both of them down his legs in one smooth motion.

With his dick bobbing proudly in front of her face, Darcy has to bite her lip to keep from telling him how pretty it is because she’s about ninety percent sure that’s a weird thing to say to a guy.  Fascinated, because she’s never seen an uncircumcised penis before in real life, she reaches out and strokes him, marveling at the sensation of the skin moving with her. A little drop of precum slips from the head and she uses her thumb to spread it across the sensitive ridge along the underside of his dick.

Steve lets out a choked grunt as his hips jerk mindlessly into her touch before he gently moves her hand away.

She pouts up at him and he shakes his head, breathing heavily as he stares down at her with an almost predatory look in his eyes. “Keep that up, darlin’, and this won’t last long.” The gravel in his voice makes her shiver as he dips his head down to thrust his tongue between her lips, one hand shifting to gently ghost along the curve of her breast.

His fingers move light and curious at first, tracing soft patterns across her heated skin, but it’s not long before they grow eager and bold, taking the weight of each breast into his palms as he presses her backwards, calloused thumbs rubbing circles around her nipples until she’s panting and arching off the bed toward him. Jesus fuck, she already feels on edge, electricity skittering across her skin in dangerous waves.

He draws her panties off, fingers rough as they scrape across her skin, but instead of moving onto the bed with her, he kneels on the floor and stares between her thighs like Christmas has come early. It makes her instantly self-conscious and she presses her thighs together and sits up.

Steve is not deterred. His eyes dart to her face and down again as his palms smooth soothing circles along her calves and then up over her knees. “You’re beautiful,” he tells her like it’s a fact rather than a personal observation. “I want to… can I?” His fingers press gently against her thighs, his intent clear.

Darcy bites her lip, uncertain. She hasn’t had many men go down on her and it’s always made her feel pretty self-conscious. Ian had definitely not been a fan. “Y-you don’t have to, I mean, I’m sure it doesn’t taste, you know, great.”

Steve licks his lips, eyes hot and heavy as they trace the curves of her body. “I’m dying to taste you, sweetheart.”  

The combination of his voice and the casual endearment has her legs parting almost of their own accord and he eagerly takes advantage, slipping her calves up and over his shoulders. Darcy falls back into the sheets with a trembling sigh, throwing her arm over her eyes, too embarrassed to watch as he draws her hips further down the bed.

A moment later she feels his thumbs gently part the damp folds of her cunt and his breath paints hot strokes against her, making her shake. “Tell me what you like,” he says right before his tongue makes a slow swipe up the length of her aching folds and Darcy all but sees stars.

She distantly has the sense that he’s unpracticed, but  _ damn _ is he eager and patient as he licks and sucks and nips at her, his mouth making filthy sounds against the backdrop of the city noise outside. But she can barely hear anything beyond the rush of blood in her ears and the sound of her own uneven breathing as the heat in her belly coils and burns, tingling in her veins.

His voice manages to break through the haze. “Good?”

“ _ Fuck _ ,” she breathes on a low moan as he slides one long finger into her, thrusts it shallowly, and then adds another. “So fucking good.”

He growls and nips her thigh as he fucks her with his fingers for a moment before reapplying his mouth to her clit and it’s like dying by slow degrees. Her hands shift, one clenching in the sheets and the other knotting mindlessly in his hair as her hips buck. God, nothing has  _ ever _ felt this good.

With a strong thrust of his fingers, his lips wrapped around her clit, she comes apart with a sharp cry. The intensity of her orgasm leaves her deaf, blind, and dumb for a long pulsing moment as he murmurs filthy encouragement against the fluttering mouth of her cunt.

She claws weakly at his shoulders. “Up. Want you. Please,” she says with as much coherency as she can manage.

It’s apparently all the encouragement he needs as he drags himself up the length of her body and kisses her hard. She can taste herself on his tongue and it actually isn’t half bad. Tangy, but also a bit sweet and sort of earthy. She’s distracted from her vague, disjointed musings by the press of his dick, thick and pulsing, against her hip. Darcy pulls back enough to croak, “Condom,” and he’s off her in a moment, fumbling with his pants for his wallet.

She watches with heady anticipation as he rips open the gold foil and slides the thin latex down the length of himself, pumping his hand back and forth a few times as if he just can’t help himself. It’s seriously the hottest thing she’s ever seen. He’s back on her a moment later, kissing a wet path down her neck and over one breast, teeth scraping over the pebbled nipple. She cradles him between her still quivering thighs and whimpers, feeling the hot tip of him tease along her oversensitive folds.

“Steve,  _ please _ ,” she begs, not in the mood for slow and gentle. She wants to feel him inside her, stretching her. Deep and hard and  _ now _ .

He seems to share her sense of urgency as he palms her ass in one hand, bracing himself on the other near her head, and drives into her with one hard thrust.

Darcy almost screams at the frankly mind-blowing sensation that lingers deliciously on the knife’s edge of pain and pleasure. She is only distantly aware of his strangled groan as his head falls to her chest.

“O-okay?” he asks, voice a total wreck as his entire body strains taunt against her in a clear attempt to hold himself steady. His fingers are pressing so hard into her ass and hip she’s certain she’ll bruise, but God, she really couldn’t care less. Everything about him screams of strength and control and she want’s nothing more in that moment than for him to let loose, to lose himself in her.

Darcy arches her hips against him, moaning at the bare friction that is simultaneously too much and not nearly enough. “Fuck me. Fuck me, please,” she begs, mindless already as the sensitized flesh stretches and contracts around him, adjusting deliciously to his intrusion. God, she feels so full, so perfectly strained.

“Fuck, fuck  _ yes _ ,” he growls and sets to the task of breaking her apart one hard, perfect thrust at a time.

She feels wild. Unhinged. And she claws at his back, tugs at his hair and bites at whatever skin she can reach. He slams into her, groaning and grunting and sucking at her throat and tits as the world disintegrates around her. She’s gone before she knows it, her orgasm entirely beyond her control, but as she clenches and flutters around his cock, he holds her firm, anchoring her to the earth as he brands her name against her skin.

She floats back to herself slowly as he thrusts shallowly twice more before pressing his face into her neck and coming long and hard with a grunt that sounds almost painful. Neither of them moves for what could be minutes or hours, Darcy’s entire body boneless and tingling, distantly certain she has never been so thoroughly fucked in her entire life.

Eventually he pulls away, both of them groaning as he slips free of her to dispose of the condom before dragging her up to the pillows and collapsing beside her. Darcy has never felt so wonderfully drained and content after sex before and she’s alarmingly close to falling asleep.

“I can go,” Steve murmurs as their breathing evens out. He sounds as tired and shellshocked as she feels.

She knows she should agree, that that’s how these sorts of things are supposed to go, but some fragile pathetic part of her wants this strong, painfully beautiful man to hold her. As if sensing her need, he turns to her in the silence following his words and pulls her across the short distance between them.

“Stay,” she says softly as she curls around him. “Stay.”

She settles her head against his chest as he lets loose a long, contented breath, arms folding her close and his legs tangling with hers. His heart beats solidly beneath her ear and she falls asleep to the soft caress of his fingers down her spine.

-

-

Darcy stands at the door of the hotel bedroom with coffee in hand, staring intently at the bare back and ass of the man in her bed, and contemplates her life choices.

She keeps getting hung up on what a fantastic ass it is. Dude could seriously give Captain America in his tight, star-spangled pants a run for his money.

Jane had texted her bright and early, drawing her from a deep sex and drink induced sleep, inviting her to meet for coffee at the shop in Stark Tower. Anxious for an excuse to bail because her self-consciousness was a real bitch, and despite the sheer stupidity of the hour and a thrumming hangover, she’d readily agreed. If she could just get her feet to cooperate she could casually leave her (mind blowing) one night stand behind. She made him coffee, took her time getting dressed, quietly packed up all her things, and still he slept peacefully, stretched out between the sheets like some Greek fucking God. Correction, a Greek God that snored. Loudly.

Darcy sips her coffee thoughtfully, mentally memorizing the shape of Steve’s frankly marvelous backside, and decides to at least leave him with a note. Seems like the classy thing to do.

_ Thanks for the top notch sex, Steve-O. Seriously, it was absolutely mind blowing and exactly what I needed, but I’ve gotta jet and it’s probably for the best that we keep this super casual. I made you coffee and there’s bagels. Everybody likes bagels, right? _

_ -Darcy _

_ P.S. You have the best ass I have ever seen on a man or woman. Like 10/10, job well done, dude. _

-

-

Darcy plops into a chair across from Jane and sighs dreamily, a boneless mass of contentment. Jane narrows her eyes suspiciously over a steaming mug of coffee.

“You’re awfully chipper for seven in the morning.”

“Mhmmm.”

“You hate mornings. In fact, you pretty frequently remind everyone that you’re incapable of productivity before nine am. Usually followed by a stern ‘fuck off.’”

Another dreamy sigh. Visions of Steve’s ass dancing in her head. “Mhmmm.”

“You did something slutty, didn’t you?”

Darcy smiles. “Super- _ duper _ slutty.”

Jane squeals and awkwardly scoots her chair into Darcy’s. “Tell me  _ now _ , bitch. I want all the horny details.”

“Ew gross. Thor hasn’t been gone  _ that _ long.”

Jane glares. “Hey! I was very detailed about Thor’s…  _ abilities _ when you had a dry spell. Time to pay up!”

Darcy rolls her eyes then leans over and whispers, “Well, he basically power lifted me against the hotel door, so let that set the scene for you.”

“Oh God, I love it when they do that.”

-

-

Two months later, Jane throws Darcy a huge farewell party, gets super drunk and cries all over her, basically makes Darcy swear a blood pact that they will Skype once a week, and sends her off to grad school. Apparently, SHIELD felt pretty bad about the whole stolen iPod thing and figured free grad school would make it up to her.

It’s a start, at least.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that bit where Steve takes off his shirt is totally taken/inspired by the scene between Emma Stone and Ryan Gosling in Crazy, Stupid, Love because it's pretty much one of my favorite scenes ever.


	2. Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She can practically feel the heat from the camera flash as her dad takes probably a thousand pictures in the time it takes to shake the Dean’s hand and snatch her diploma. All in all, it’s pretty anti-climactic, and she tries not to think about how much the little piece of paper tucked into the leather folder had cost.
> 
> Thanks, SHIELD.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the first chapter took place shortly after Dark World but before Winter Solider and Age of Ultron; this chapter takes place after Age of Ultron while I industriously ignore Civil War. Hope that gives people a sense of where these characters are at, especially Steve.
> 
> Also, huge shout out to hollyspacey (on Tumblr) for betaing this chapter and the first! Speaking of Tumblr, you can find me at pardonmymannerssir. Come say hi, or harass me, or throw prompts at me or just, you know, drop a line. Thank you so much for all the reviews and positive feedback, so great to be welcomed like this to a new fandom!

-

-

 

**_Three(ish) years later…_ **

“Levi, Thomas. Masters in Chemical Engineering.”

Applause –mostly polite- echoes through the auditorium as Thomas Levi stumbles toward the podium like it’s the gallows or something. Despite all her best efforts, Darcy’s eyes drift left and zero in on the empty seats next to her parents and younger sister.

She’s not upset. She’s totally _not_ upset.

Her dad is _still_ taking pictures, her mother hasn’t stopped crying, and Rebecca is yawning and looking down at her phone, basically the definition of a bored, impressed upon teenager. The two empty chairs glare at her from across the room, mocking, jeering, and she reminds herself, yet again, that she is not upset, nope, she is merely _disappointed_. She’s disappointed that, despite swearing up and down that they would be here, her two best friends in the whole world did not show up to her graduation.  At least Selvig had been honest and told her upfront he wouldn’t be able to come. He’d even sent her a super sweet present ---her favorite chocolates and a gift card to Target (which is pretty much better than cash money).

Not upset. Nope, not upset at all. Disappointed. If she repeats the lie enough times she’s pretty sure that by the end of the day, she might believe it.

“Lewis, Darcy. Masters in Political Science.”

Darcy jolts, wondering when the two people ahead of her had been called, and swallows thickly before taking the carpeted steps.

She can practically feel the heat from the camera flash as her dad takes probably a thousand pictures in the time it takes to shake the Dean’s hand and snatch her diploma. All in all, it’s pretty anti-climactic, and she tries not to think about how much the little piece of paper tucked into the leather folder had cost.

Thanks, SHIELD.

She smiles at a few of her friends, makes small talk, agrees to stop by a local bar for a few celebratory drinks, and then escapes to the waiting area to endure her very loving, very supportive, highly obnoxious parents. Mostly she just wants to go home and ignore the whole world, which is probably dramatic, but whatever.

Her mother is still crying as she pulls Darcy into a blubbering hug. Darcy looks like her, mostly –same dark hair, same full lips and bright eyes, but she definitely got her hips and tits from her dad’s side of the family. In her father it translates to a broad, barrel chest and a pronounced gut. Darcy thinks she got the better end of the genetic bargain.

“You’ve got lipstick on your teeth,” Becca dead pans, snapping her gum and flipping mindlessly through something on her phone.

“You’ve got a little bit of spoiled bitch on your face,” Darcy replies cattily, because her sister has been a brat since her family arrived yesterday afternoon. Was she this bitchy when she was sixteen? God, she hopes not.

Her comment has the double benefit of getting the water works to stop as her mother swats her on the arm. “Darcy! _Language!_ ”

Darcy rolls her eyes and sighs.

“Smile Darcy!” her dad commands in singsong, lost in his own little world and oblivious to the petty machinations of his daughters. Darcy figures it’s worth another smack on the arm to flick off the camera. Her dad laughs, at least.

“Where’s Benjamin?” her mother asks as the lobby area fills with recent graduates and their families.

“It’s Ben mom. _Ben_ ,” Darcy says and shrugs, a bit embarrassed that she’d basically forgotten her boyfriend’s existence, but then spots him across the room, surrounded by his own parents and six –yes, _six_ —siblings.

He holds up a finger to let her know he’ll be over in a moment. Darcy motions two fingers toward the doors leading outside and he nods.  God, she does _not_ want to deal with his mother right now. Ben’s mom always looks faintly horrified by the fact that her baby boy is dating a girl like Darcy. It always makes her want to make up super explicit sex stories or something.

“Let’s go outside,” Darcy tells her family, pretty much at full social capacity already. Her jaw hurts from all the fake smiling and her feet are killing her. Heels may have been a mistake.

Culver University, aside from its heavily lauded science community (looking at you Dr. Banner/The Hulk), also sports fantastic grounds. Spring in Virginia is warm and beautiful, with a hint of the terrible humidity that summer will bring lingering on a slight breeze. Despite the hell her Master’s program had been, Darcy’s gonna miss this place. Without her even realizing it, it had become home.

“Hey, baby,” Ben says as he sweeps in suddenly and dips her unceremoniously nearly to the ground, planting a wet kiss on her lips. Darcy squawks and nearly collapses.

Her dad, however, takes full advantage of the situation, snapping a dozen or so pictures, and Darcy tells herself she totally isn’t annoyed as Ben pulls her upright again. She stiffly reaches up to adjust her cap as he turns away before she can say anything cutting. Ben being Ben, he totally makes a show of hugging Darcy’s mom, shaking her dad’s hand, and ruffling Becca’s hair, who shoots Darcy a look that clearly communicates ‘ _really, this guy?’_

Darcy shrugs, sort of at a loss herself.

Ben is handsome in a generic sort of way. Dark hair, blue eyes, and a tall lanky build with a smile that is maybe just a _bit_ too wide and eager. They’ve been together for over a year and Darcy is faintly horrified by the sort of gut impression that he might actually propose to her soon. She assumes her reaction is a pretty bad omen for their relationship, but is sort of at a loss for what to do about it. She’s twenty-eight and she feels weird about cutting loose a long term relationship, like maybe she’d just be confirming her status as an Old Maid or something.

Besides, Ben is nice, polite, smart, and loyal, and her parents totally love him. Darcy sometimes has the sense, however, that Ben is sort of waiting for Darcy to grow out of her eccentricities. Like her foul mouth, poor manners, and general quirkiness are just a phase that he has to power through. He also has a tendency to orgasm first and fall asleep before ‘helping her out’ like it’s a fucking favor he’s doing for her or something, which seriously sucks.

Darcy thinks longingly of her bed, a bottle of wine, and binge watching Netflix for maybe the next thirty years.

“Where are your parents, Ben?” she forces herself to ask as people file past them. There is a general air of celebration and relief that Darcy thinks is akin to the survivors of some terrible battle. Darcy wonders if she is the only one who has a knot of dread churning in her stomach.

“They’ll be back around. Alison wanted to see the physics building,” he tells her, adjusting his cap and tie. Darcy, for the life of her, can’t remember which of his siblings ‘Alison’ is. “Have you spoken to Dr. Grant?”

Darcy winces, her near guilt immediately forgotten. “Can we _not_ have this conversation now?”

Ben frowns at her like she’s an unruly child. “Darcy, he isn’t going to hold the job position for you forever.”

A quick glance tells her that her parents have thankfully been momentarily distracted by one of Darcy’s professors. Her father is probably asking super personal and embarrassing questions, but she really has no more fucks to give about any of it.

“Have you ever considered that maybe I don’t _want_ the fucking job,” she snaps, unable to help herself. It is seriously the last thing she wants to think or talk about right now, but it has become a pretty frequent point of contention between the two of them.

Ben’s jaw tightens as he looks around like she’s whipped her tits out or something and steers her a bit away. “Come on Darcy, be reasonable. Dr. Grant has offered you a great position at the campaign office and it isn’t like you have anything else-“

Darcy rips her arm from his, stupidly at the point of tears, and says, “I’m going to the bathroom, asshole” and escapes down the walk toward the nearby Political Science building before he can stop her.

Ben doesn’t follow. She’s not sure whether or not she wants him to. Christ, what the hell is _wrong_ with her?!

By the time she slips inside the empty building and reaches the first floor bathroom she’s got tears rolling down her face and is on the verge of a full-blown meltdown.  Holding back a sob, Darcy braces her hands on one of the sinks, refusing to look at her reflection, and sniffles pathetically, contemplating throwing her stupid diploma in the trash can. It suddenly all feels completely  pointless and stupid. She’s supposed to know what to do with her life now, damnit, not be more confused than ever.

But, and she knows this has a lot more to do with her simmering anger than anything else, Jane and Thor were supposed to be with her, goddamnit. They’d promised.

“Get it together, Lewis,” she croaks, stepping into a stall to retrieve some toilet paper to blot at her eyes.

It’s been over three years since she managed to get out from under SHIELD and the insanity that is Thor, in the hopes of carving out a real life for herself. She’d thought it would allow her some sense of self, some sense of direction. Darcy feels more lost than ever.

Still sniffling, she exits the stall and nearly runs into a man dressed entirely in black.

“Jesus fuck!” she yelps. “What the hell, dude!”

She doesn’t realize he’s holding a gun until he levels it at her head. “Holy shit. _Holy shit_.”

The diploma under her arm slips free and skitters loudly across the linoleum as she blinks up in shock. The guy, his dark eyes intense and cold from beneath his ski mask, opens his mouth to speak as the door bursts open. The gun jerks away from her –thank fuck for that-, toward the figure at the door, and discharges.

Darcy screams as an arrow –yes, a fucking _arrow_ \- sprouts from her assailant’s chest like some fucked up miracle. Blood spurts, hot and warm as it splatters against her bare calves, and she stumbles back against the bathroom stall, very near to vomiting, or passing out, or (probably) both. Feeling oddly disjointed, she finds herself being dragged out of the bathroom by a dude in really tight leather pants carrying a bow in one hand like it’s a totally normal thing for a person to do.

“Listen, sweetheart, this would be a hell of a lot easier if you actually _moved_ your legs,” Robin Hood says as he shoulders his way through some doors down a hall she’d passed through every day for nearly three years. It feels strangely unfamiliar as she turns halfway and realizes they are being pursued by more dudes in black with wicked looking assault rifles. Not something she saw every day, that was for damn sure.

Darcy stumbles, curses, and starts to run. Robin Hood seems grateful, but his grip on her arm doesn’t loosen as they take off across the grounds at a flat sprint that her heels _really_ aren’t designed to handle.

Gunshots ring out as they crest a hill and the gathered graduates and families below look about them in shock. A few of them spot her and Robin Hood and point, shouting in alarm.

“My parents are down there!” she blurts, panicking as Robin Hood jerks her down and away from the crowd. He looks vaguely familiar, his hawkish face tugging at some distant and indistinct memory.

“These guys are after you, kid, don’t worry about your parents,” he says, barely sparing the disconcerted mass of people a glance.  

“Darcy!” someone cries, and she’s thinks maybe it’s Ben, but they are rounding the corner of the physics building and it’s too late to turn back. Something tells her, distantly and prophetically, that she’ll never be able to turn back again.

“Kick off the heels!” Robin Hood snaps as she stumbles and Darcy obeys, bare feet pounding across the grass as they book it toward the parking lot. Eventually, assuming she survives whatever the hell is happening to her, she’s going to be super pissed about losing heels that had cost her almost a week’s salary.

Suddenly there is a crack and a rush of wind and then a stinging pain in her side that nearly brings her to her knees. She has the vague impression that she may have been shot, but that’s so crazy it seems impossible.

Shot? Her? No way. Exciting people got shot. Important people got shot. Darcy Lewis did not get shot.

“Fuck,” her rescuer/kidnapper says empathetically as spots start to dance before her eyes, and he turns to scoop her roughly into his arms. It hurts, a lot, and she can’t help the gurgling scream that claws out of her throat.

“Stay with me, kid,” Robin Hood says, barely breaking stride. “Almost there.” She wants to ask _almost where_? But she’s pretty sure she’s going into shock or something because all she can manage is a maniacal giggle at how insane this moment is.  

Darcy turns a bit, everything taking on a strange dreamy quality as the pain in her side somehow grows and dims at the same time, and sees a black SUV screech to a halt and the doors burst open. Four people in vaguely militaristic uniforms appear, also with guns, which they immediately point somewhere behind her and fire several sharp rounds. She flinches and groans at the sound, sure she’s about to be sick.

Several long, sprinting strides later and Robin Hood half throws, half slides her into the SUV. He slips in after her, his compatriots in tow, and they take off at a seriously dangerous speed.

“Hill, Barton,” Robin Hood says into a weird looking headpiece. “We’ve got Lewis. She’s been shot, we’ll need full medical.”

Darcy blinks, looks around at the unfamiliar, stern expressions of the armed men and women in the vehicle, and promptly turns her head and pukes all over Robin Hood before passing out.

-

-

Darcy wakes to the smell of coffee and a familiar cheap pastry.

“Strawberry Pop Tarts are so gross,” she groans and opens her eyes slowly. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out she’s in a hospital room. Christ, she feels like she’s been run over by a bulldozer.

Jane startles to her feet, the Pop Tart in her hands dropping to the floor, and immediately burst into tears.

Darcy tries to sit up to comfort her friend, frowning as an IV attached to the back of her hand stops her short, just as a dude with red skin in a lab coat walks calmly into the room.

Darcy freezes and squints as he comes closer and more into focus. Yup. Red skin. Where the hell are her glasses? “Oh shit, I’m dreaming, aren’t I? Am I in a coma?” Jane is still crying, slumped half on the bed and half on Darcy, and doesn’t respond.

The red skinned guy cants his bald head at her in confusion and says, “Miss Lewis, I am Vision. I am glad you are awake. You should know that you were shot, but are on your way to making a swift and full recovery.”

Darcy blinks and wets her lips. God, she’s thirsty. “Your skin is red and I am dreaming.”

Vision smiles a bit and it looks like he doesn’t have much experience at it, before he steps to the side of her bed to check her vitals and tap a few things onto a tablet. “My body is of synthetic design, Miss Lewis, I apologize if its color upsets you.”

Jane lifts her head, her pretty face a mess as she clutches Darcy’s hand. She doesn’t seem to be aware of the red skinned guy. “You got shot,” Jane blubbers.

Darcy tears her eyes away from ‘Vision’ and quirks a dry smile. “That seems to be the consensus, yeah.” Though to be fair, she’s having a pretty hard time believing it herself.

“You got shot and it’s all my fault,” Jane sputters, somehow still managing to be pretty with snot running down her face. Vision seems to be paying them no attention, but Darcy can’t stop side eyeing him, still not entirely convinced this isn’t some crazy dream.

“I don’t remember seeing you chasing me with a gun,” Darcy says dryly and gets her friend a tissue from the bedside table. Next to the tissue box is a seriously huge bouquet of flowers with a tiny stuffed Thor doll next to it. There are at least six more such bouquets scattered around the room and she has a pretty good feeling where they came from. Thor, the big ol’ softy.

Jane takes the tissue, blows her nose wetly, and climbs carefully into the bed with her. Vision watches this with a faint air of disapproval, but wisely says nothing.

“Sorry we weren’t at the graduation,” Jane mumbles as she curls into Darcy. “I tried to get the Captain to let us go, but he was convinced we would be a security risk, and then once they had the intel about a kidnapping attempt, Thor nearly hit him with his hammer and-“

“Whoa, whoa,” Darcy says, feeling rather dizzy. “That is a lot of info all at once, dude. At this point, boss, I’m just really happy to be alive.” Jane sniffles and Darcy feels like crying a little, too. “I should have known you two were caught up in some crazy shit again and that’s why you weren’t there.” It’s kind of stupid, under the present circumstances, how much better it makes her feel. She’d thought that maybe they didn’t care anymore. That maybe the comradery they’d established in New Mexico and then London had finally evaporated. That she didn’t matter.

Jane sniffles again, peeking up at her as Darcy wraps the arm that is _not_ entangled in yards of medical stuff around her friend. They huddle against each other and the years between them melt away. Some things just bond people for life. Finding a space god and blowing up half of London were some of those things.  

“Miss Lewis, once you feel up to it, Agent Hill would like a word with you,” Vision says gently, turning toward her with another weird, displaced smile.

Darcy doesn’t feel up to talking to anyone about anything. “Agent who?”

“Agent Hill, she is in charge of operations at this facility.”

Darcy frowns, exhaustion creeping up on her with an almost surprising amount of ferocity. “What facility?”

“I’m afraid that is classified.”

Darcy snorts, already slipping toward unconsciousness. “Well that’s fucking stupid if I’m _in_ the goddamn place, don’t you think?”

She’s out before she can catch his reply.

-

-

The second time Darcy wakes, she’s alone.

She blinks for several long moments at the ceiling before groggily pressing herself upward, feeling as though she’s been asleep for at least a decade. The room is pristine, nondescript, and has one window with thick curtains drawn over it so that she had no sense of time whatsoever. She hopes she isn’t going to have a crazy Walking Dead moment and step outside the room to find out she’d slept through the apocalypse. Shit like that would _totally_ happen to her.

Darcy takes a few deep breaths before pulling aside the blankets, her limbs weirdly weak and uncooperative, and lifts the right side of her hospital gown. Hissing in a sharp breath, she smooths a hand over the thick bandaging just beneath her boob with a sense of awe. The area is tender, but not awful, and she lifts the gown higher, tempted to remove the bandage to see what’s under it.

The door opens and she lifts her head to find who she thinks is Robin Hood (she really, really needs her glasses) frozen in the doorway, taking in her bared breast for a moment before turning on his heel and shutting the door sharply behind him. Darcy blushes and lowers her gown slowly, somewhere between mortified and highly amused.

There’s a knock on the door a moment later.  

“Ah, c-come in,” she croaks.

Darcy squints as a woman in a fitted blue dress, perfectly coiffed dark hair, and cheek bones she’d kill for, walks into the room. She _really_ needs her fucking glasses.

“I apologize for Agent Barton’s inability to knock. I am Agent Hill, head of operations here,” she says in a crisp voice while Darcy self-consciously pulls her blankets higher. She doesn’t need a mirror to know she looks like week old shit.

“Well, I’m pretty sure he saved my life so I guess seeing me topless is a small price to pay,” Darcy blurts.

The other woman frowns at her before apparently deciding to ignore the outburst. Darcy is grateful. “I will need your account of the events that transpired at Culver, Miss Lewis.”

Darcy feels a hot flash of annoyance. “Okay, sure, but first maybe you could tell _me_ what the fuck happened and where the hell I am and how long I have been here.”

Hill considers this for a moment before nodding sharply. “You are currently at the top secret Avenger’s facility outside of Washington D.C. You have been here for a little over a week and you have recently become a target of interest to some very bad people. Agent Barton was sent to discreetly extract you, but arrived nearly too late.”

Darcy isn’t quite sure what to do with all of this information. “Do my parents know I’m okay? And I thought SHIELD said they had me covered, what happened?”

Agent Hill paces toward the window, opening the curtains slightly to let in a small stream of light. “Your parents have been informed of your condition, but not your location. SHIELD has-“ she pauses, not looking at Darcy as she clearly attempts to find the right words. “SHIELD was compromised over a year ago by outside agencies. In the wake of the collapse we have been attempting to keep tabs on everyone who might be a security risk. As you can see, we frequently fall short.”

“Jesus Christ,” Darcy says dully. “So, what, I’m a top target or something? But I barely know _anything_.”

Agent Hill sniffs imperiously as she turns back toward her. “Be that as it may, Miss Lewis, you worked with Dr. Foster for years, have intimate knowledge of Thor and Asgard-“

“Well, I mean, I tasered the guy and did what I could to keep his loony brother from blowing up the planet, but that hardly seems worth kidnapping someone over.”

A very small smile tugs at the other woman’s lips. It’s gone almost immediately. “I’m afraid that does not change the fact that you remain a target, which is why we brought you here, for protection. We believe their mission is to either apprehend… or exterminate.”

Darcy swallows, feeling rather nauseous. “Jesus _fucking_ Christ, this is crazy. I’m here for protection? For how long?”

Agent Hill seems to consider her response carefully. “Until the threat to your person has been dealt with. We do not have the people nor do we have the means to look after everyone who is at risk, especially as we are still unsure how much of SHIELD’s databases have been leaked, etcetera.”

“Uh, right,” Darcy offers, feeling entirely stupid beneath this woman’s business like scrutiny. Agent Hill is the kind of person one does not mess with. “So, what does that mean for me?”

“It means, Miss Lewis,” Agent Hill says sternly, “That you will remain at this facility for the foreseeable future.”

Darcy groans. “Well, fuck _me_ sideways.”

-

-

“Lady Darcy! We come bearing gifts!” Thor bursts into her room the next day, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt which reads, in bold letters, ‘Science is Sexy,’ arms laden with his offerings. He looks so good and happy and familiar that Darcy gets all choked up. Jane follows behind, looking much more cheerful and less tear prone than the day before.

Darcy’s gifts include: more flowers, a bag of Flamin’ hot Cheetos (her favorite), some gummy worms, her cellphone, a tablet that definitely doesn’t belong to her, her glasses, and a taser.

Thor hands her this last gift with a soft, deeply affectionate look in his eyes, and kisses her on the forehead. “A Shieldmaiden should never be without her weapons.”

Darcy, who had been doing a pretty valiant job up until then, immediately loses her shit. Vision arrives a short while later, momentarily disconcerted to find both Jane and Thor crowding onto her bed as Darcy sobs and laughs simultaneously.

“Perhaps I should seek psychiatric help?” he says uncertainly. Thor cheerfully offers him a gummy worm.

-

-

The Avengers, or Agent Hill, or whoever the hell is in charge, sets her up with a pretty nice set of rooms.  There’s a bedroom, a kitchenette type deal, a living room kind of area, and a small study. All of it is furnished and all of it super bland, like an upscale hotel room, but still embarrassingly nicer than anywhere she’s ever lived. She’s also three doors down from Thor and Jane, which is nice, but she has yet to meet her other neighbors. Considering where she is, they could be literal space aliens or something.

Three weeks after her great escape and near death, she finally gets the balls to call Ben –after receiving express permission from Agent Hill, who spent thirty minutes detailing all the things she was _not_ allowed to talk about.

He picks up on the fifth ring.

“Darcy?” he demands, sounding oddly breathless.

She flinches, toying with the bottom of her sweater. “Ah, heeeey. I’m alive!” she says in halfhearted singsong.

A long pause and very long, wobbly breath. “Jesus Christ, Darcy, where are you? Your parents told me you were okay but that you’d been taken into government custody or something crazy.”

Darcy chews on her lower lip. “Yeah… well, that pretty much sums it up,” she says weakly.

“What on earth did you get mixed up with, the mafia?!”

She can’t tell if he’s joking or not. “So, you remember that scientist I told you about? The one I was an intern for?”

“Um, yeah, I think so.”

Darcy draws in a long breath. “Well, she and I got mixed up into some pretty heavy shit about three years ago, that I’ve been forbidden to talk about, I had to sign like a _thousand_ nondisclosure agreements, and it turns out there are some really scary people who are after me because of it.”

A long pause. “Are you _kidding_?”

Darcy rolls her eyes, exasperated. “Yes, this is all some huge joke, Ben. I thought it would be hilarious to be accosted in a bathroom and then shot. Ha ha ha, soooo funny.”

Another long pause and then an impressed upon sigh. “Jesus, Darcy, this is a lot to take in. But I’m glad you’re okay, is there any way I can see you?” He actually sounds sincere, which is sort of surprising for some reason.

Darcy bites her lip, a torrent of conflicting emotions churning in her gut. “Ah, I’m not sure yet. I guess I’m still at pretty high risk so they’ve got me put up into some semi-permanent accommodations.”

“Well, we were all really worried about you.”

Darcy isn’t really sure who ‘we’ is and frankly she doesn’t care enough to ask.

“Thanks Ben, I’ll, uh, call when I can, okay?”

“Yeah, okay. And Darcy?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Darcy nearly chokes. “I uh, you too.” She hangs up the phone and lets her head fall against the kitchen countertop.

-

-

Her recovery process involves a lot of time spent with Vision (Mr. Vision? Mr. _the_ Vision? Dr. Vision, maybe?) who turns out to be a pretty alright dude once you get past the whole artificially grown human being with a crystal imbedded in his forehead, thing. His sense of humor, however, is gonna take some work.

“Explain to me again the purpose of this exercise, Miss. Lewis.”

Darcy hands him a Wii controller and rolls her eyes. After much whining and complaining, she’d been set up with a big, flat screen T.V., a ton of Blu-Rays, and a Playstation 4 and the Wii. Turns out being under the wide umbrella of the Avenger’s protection is actually _super_ boring.

“For the millionth time, dude, call me Darcy. And the _purpose_ is to have fun while using this little white remote to roll a digital bowling ball. Got it?”

He frowns at the Wii remote, holding it awkwardly. “I am unsure.”

“Well, time to sink or swim, dude.”

He beats her pretty handily. When she starts to sweat, he insists they take a break so she doesn’t strain herself.

“God damn super heroes and their god damn super human reflexes,” she grumbles under her breath as she fetches them each a water bottle.

At least Vision isn’t a douchebag winner, like Thor.

“So, how am I doing?” she asks, as they drink their water on her little sofa in companionable silence. She tries not to be distracted by how weird he looks in his nicely pressed slacks and pullover sweater. He kind of looks like Mr. Rogers, but, you know, redder. “Health wise that is?”

“Very well, Miss Lew“--he clears his throat at the look she gives him-- “ah, that is, _Darcy_. You’ve made a near full recovery.”

“So… what happens now, then?”

Vision frowns, draining his water bottle so swiftly it’s kind of off putting. “Whatever do you mean?”

Darcy sighs, picking at the plastic label on her own bottle. “I _mean,_ now that I’m not on the verge of death, what happens now? Can I like… go outside, maybe go home?”

“So far as I know, Mi- Darcy, you are to remain here until such time as the Captain believes it is safe for you to leave.”

Darcy presses back a wave of annoyance. “Who the hell is this Captain dude and when do I get to talk to him? Seems like he’s making a lot of decisions on my behalf.”

“The Captain is merely doing what he believes is best for your overall safety I am sure, Miss Lewis.” Darcy doesn’t bother to correct him, trying not to seethe at being treated like some errant child. “He has recently returned to the field and will not be back for some time, I believe. And the Captain is of course Captain America, he oversees much of the Avenger’s dealings.”

Darcy groans. “Of course it’s fucking Captain America who’s got me under house arrest. Why the hell is my life so weird?!”

“Perhaps you should not make friends with alien gods, Miss Lewis,” he tells her seriously, as if deeply concerned with her personal choices. She can’t really blame him.

“Solid tip, thanks Vision,” she says dryly.

“Anytime, Miss Lewis.”

“Someone really needs to teach you about sarcasm, dude.”

“Mr. Stark and Agent Barton attempt to do so daily, Miss Lewis.”

-

-

A month after being shot and kidnapped, Robin Hood shows up at her door. He is holding a bottle of Maker's Mark.

“A little scientist told me that this is your favorite,” he says by way of greeting, waggling the bottle at her, and smiling cheerfully.

Darcy looks him up and down appraisingly. He’s dressed in loose fitted jeans and a black hoodie. “Is this your way of saying sorry for checking me out topless?”

He smirks and shoots her a lascivious wink. “Sweetheart, no one should have to apologize for appreciating a rack like yours.”

Darcy snorts and flushes. “I think the Avengers _really_ need to invest in some harassment training.”

“Hill isn’t in the habit of wasting time and money on fruitless endeavors.”

Darcy flutters her lashes at him and asks sweetly, “What’s her excuse for keeping you around then?”

Robin Hood blinks at her and then barks out a laugh. “Well damn, sharp _and_ beautiful. Come on, let me in, it’s tradition between those of us in the field to share a bottle after almost dying.”

Darcy lifts a brow. “A _bottle_?”

“You don’t strike me as a lightweight, Lewis.” There’s a hint of challenge in his voice and Darcy has always been a sucker for a challenge.

-

-

Two hours later she’s on the roof of the massive concrete compound with no real understanding of how she got there. The night is cool and crisp and clear and she’s just really happy to be outside as Clint balances from the ledge of the building.

“I’m no expert here,” Darcy says from her seat safely against the ledge wall. “But that’s probably not a safe thing to do drunk.”

Clint snorts, executes a perfect backflip, then promptly stumbles and falls on his ass next to her. He considers his position for a moment. “You may have a point, kid.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’d fall off sober.”

“I grew up in the circus, so I have an unfair advantage.”

Darcy nearly chokes on the whiskey. “Y-you did not!”

Clint smirks and takes the bottle from her, taking a long pull before saying, “Swear to God, kid. Used to wear purple tights. Nat has pictures.”

Darcy doesn’t know who Nat is, but she is definitely going to make friends with them in the near future. “I can’t decide if that’s _super_ lame, or really cool.”

“Probably a bit of both, actually.”

They sit in companionable silence, passing the bare remains of the Maker’s back and forth till it’s gone.

Eventually, she says, “Hey, uh, thanks for saving my life.” She chances a glance at him in the darkness, everything floaty and kind of dreamy.

He smirks, leaning his head back against the wall. Sitting in the gravel that makes up the rooftop isn’t exactly comfortable, but Darcy really couldn’t care less. “Don’t mention it, kid. Was just doing my job.”

“You did get to see me topless,” she reminds him with a laugh.

He actually looks faintly embarrassed this time as he rubs at the back of his neck. “Yeah… sorry about that. Hill nearly had my ass about it.”

Darcy chuckles and pats his leg awkwardly. “Don’t worry about it, dude. I was in a hospital bed attached to a million different tubes and wires, hardly what I’d call sexy.”

Clint gives her a weird look and shakes his head. “Whatever you say, kid. Whatever you say.”

Another long pause before Darcy blurts, “Sorry for puking on you.”

She doesn’t realize her head is on his shoulder until he pats her kindly on the crown of it. She feels more than hears him chuckle. “You’d been shot, you get a free pass.”

“It would be super cool if you didn’t tell, like, Captain America or Iron Man about that, though.” She wants to lift her head, means to even, but it just feels so _heavy_ all of a sudden.

“Deal,” he says with a husky sort of laugh. She turns her head up and squints, the stars are really pretty, and she really wants to go home.

“I know you do, kid,” Clint says quietly, her only clue she’d spoken aloud. “It’s not forever.”

Darcy huffs. He smells nice. Like clean laundry and some sort of polishing oil maybe. “I probably deserve this.”

He stiffens a bit. “What makes you say that?”

She sighs, blinking back sudden tears. “I kinda missed this… well, Jane and Thor and being involved with well, stuff, anyway.” --she waves a hand about them as a means of explanation—“Not the being shot part though. That sucked.” She pauses and sighs before going on, “I got my stupid Master’s degree and I still have no fucking idea what to do with myself and I just thought that maybe… maybe I should never have left. Should have kept following Jane around like a lost puppy. But now I remember how _not_ cut out for all this I am. I’m basically waaaay out of my depth, as usual, and it just _really_ fucking sucks, you know?”

Clint wraps an arm around her and it's surprisingly comfortable and friendly. It makes her feel safe, really safe, for the first time since she woke up to Jane sobbing all over her. “Don’t think like that, kiddo. Dr. Foster talks about you all the time. How brave and funny and bright you are and how you were the best friend and assistant she ever had. Thor practically murdered the Cap when we got word of those thugs going after you. Took Jane hours to talk him down and only because Hill begged her to do it. People like them, well, they probably see something in you that you don’t. I think, well,” –he coughs a little— “I think maybe I see it, too.”

Darcy sniffs pathetically. “Oh yeah, and what mysterious quality is that?” she half slurs.

Clint’s smile is rather soft and maybe a bit sad. “Kindness, kid. Good old fashioned kindness. And you might think that’s bullshit or whatever, but let me tell you, I’ve seen enough and done enough to know how rare it really is.”

Darcy, drunk and emotional, is actually kind of stunned into silence for a moment. Her mother would be shocked. A slow smile eventually curls at her lips and she lifts her head a bit. “Hey, Clint?”

“Yeah, kid?”

“You’re kind of a sap.”

He coughs and she can’t be sure, because of the darkness, but she thinks maybe he’s blushing. “Yeah, well, I won’t tell everyone how you yakked ramen noodles all over me and you just keep pretending I’m a stone cold badass, deal?”

Darcy smiles and settles her head back onto his shoulder. “Deal.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this wasn't too disjointed and didn't move TOO quickly. Would love to hear your thoughts!


	3. Wait... I Know That Guy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane still looks stunned, kind of shell-shocked even, and Darcy decides to be offended. “Okay, so he’s totally out of my league, you don’t need to look so fucking shocked about it-“ Jane interrupts her by grabbing Darcy with both hands, her expression a tad wild and sort of… excited?
> 
> “Jesus Christ, Darcy, do you have any idea who that is?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll are wonderful. Sorry I haven't gotten around to responding to everyone's reviews! I promise I'll find time this week, but know that I read every single one of them and you guys are just the best. I hope you all enjoy this chapter, it was such a pain to finish but I think it turned out right.
> 
> EDIT: Always fun when you post the unbetaed version of a chapter... ugh. If you're reading this for a second time, you may notice some minor additions and changes.

-

-

Darcy wakes to the unpleasant sensation of someone yanking the sheets off her naked body.

She groans and curls in on herself, a monstrous hangover throbbing between her temples and coiling in her belly. She has distant memories of Clint throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her down a very high ladder, but quickly shoves the terrifying image aside as her stomach rolls ominously. God, never again.

“Go away Jane,” she croaks, burying her face into her pillow. “No science. No research. Only sleeeeep.”

“Vision has cleared you for training, Lewis, get up,” says a stern and unfamiliar voice.

This concerns Darcy enough for her to turn her head and crack one eyelid. A woman in tight leather (why all the leather? Why? It could not be that comfortable) with short red hair comes blurrily into focus. Nope, definitely not Jane.

“’Scuse me?” she mumble/slurs.

The woman sighs, bracing her hands on shapely hips. “Today you start your training, Lewis.”

Darcy is having a hard time linking words that separately make sense, but together seem like a foreign language. “Training? Training for wha’?” It feels like Thor is hitting her joyfully and repeatedly in the head with his hammer.

The woman smiles and it’s kind of evil. “For the rest of your life.” The smile disappears. “You’ve got ten minutes to meet me outside, dressed for exercise, or I’ll drag you to the gym as you are.” Her eyes dip provocatively down Darcy’s body.

Darcy belatedly recalls that she’s naked and slaps a hand over her vagina. She quietly prays that she undressed herself last night and not Clint because that is a level of embarrassment she is not ready to deal with.

“Who are you? _Satan_?”

A sly smirk. “I prefer Natasha, but Satan will do.” A dark laugh trails after the woman as she walks away and she calls over her shoulder, “Ten minutes, Lewis!”

Darcy is pretty sure Clint betrayed her.

“Apologies, Miss. Lewis,” Friday, Stark’s AI system says. “Ms. Romanov bypassed my security systems in order to access your rooms.”

“It’s cool, Friday,” Darcy says, resignation sinking in as she tentatively swings her feet over the side of her bed. “I’m pretty sure I know who she is and I think it comes with the territory.”

“Quite.”

-

-

Darcy steps blurrily outside her rooms and into the communal hallway nine minutes and fifty-six seconds later. It had taken her most of that time to shove her contacts into her unwilling eyeballs as they seemed determined to remain glued shut even in the face of horrible embarrassment and bodily harm.

Her tennis shoes are clutched in her one hand, her loose-fitting University of Culver Alumni shirt is tucked into her yoga pants, and her hair is in a wild bun directly atop her head, but it’s pretty much the best she can manage under present circumstances. Mostly she just wishes the crazy red-haired lady would just kill her already, it would be far more merciful.

Satan, aka, Natasha (and Darcy had wanted to be this evil woman’s _friend_ , ha!) hands her a bottle of what appears to be baby shit and two giant horse pills. “These should get rid of your hangover… if you can keep them down,” she says ominously.

“Charming,” Darcy grumbles and swallows the pills with a swig of what might seriously _be_ baby shit. She has to trot to catch up with Natasha who is already halfway down the hall, adjusting her sports bra grumpily.

The gym is _massive_ . Like a gym-rat, dude-bro’s wet dream. To Darcy, it is like hell on earth. To say Darcy isn’t a frequent gym dweller is a bit of an understatement –a huge portion of her life has been spent avoiding the sweaty temples of testosterone and protein shakes. With boobs like hers, exercise is _never_ fun. Running is definitely a thing she only does when being chased by aliens and angry SHIELD agents.

Natasha leads her to an area where there are several raised mats, punching bags, and free weights.  There’s quite a few people in the gym, but their little corner is conspicuously empty. Darcy manages to finish drinking the baby shit without puking, _thank you very much_ , and feels marginally better as they sketch a path around one of the mats. Natasha waits patiently as Darcy plops down to slip on and tie tennis shoes she hasn’t worn in years, but which the Avengers seemed to think she desperately needed when they’d secured some of her belongings. In retrospect, she probably should have seen this coming.

Natasha motions her forward. “First you learn how to punch and to fall.”

Darcy nods uncertainly and waddles awkwardly onto the mat.

“Make a fist.”

Darcy has seen enough fighting movies to know her thumb goes on the outside. Natasha nods in approval and adjusts Darcy’s wrist up and in front of her face before she lightly kicks Darcy’s feet apart. “Bend at the knee, find your center of gravity.”

“Not sure I have one,” Darcy grumbles, but dutifully bends her knees. Natasha rolls her eyes and pushes Darcy lightly on the shoulder a few times, testing her balance. Apparently satisfied, she pushes so hard and fast that Darcy falls without little to no warning.

She grunts, more from surprise than pain.

“Did I do something to you that I’m unaware of?” she asks, clamoring to her feet when Natasha motions for her to do so.

“I’m doing you a favor, actually. Fists up, bend your knees again. You should be solid, unshakeable.”

“You’re doing me a favor by pushing me, “-another hard jab and she’s on her back- “over?”

Natasha sighs, frowning down at her for a moment as Darcy lies there, basically refusing to get up. She drank way too much, slept way too little, and smells _way_ too bad to be thrown into some quasi basic training like she’s on some karate movie training montage.

“Alright, Lewis,” Natasha says sternly, “you give me an hour of your time, an hour of effort and concentration, and I’ll tell you why, and you can decide if you want to keep this up, deal?”

Darcy glowers at the ceiling for a moment, feeling a bit petulant. “You’re the Black Widow, aren’t you?”

The other woman’s lips quirk slightly and a shadow passes over her eyes as she squats at Darcy’s side. “Sometimes, but to you, well, I think I’d just like to be Nat.” She holds out her hand, a clear but subtle offering of something more than just early morning torture.

She can think of worse friends to have than the Black Widow. Darcy takes her hand.

An hour later, drenched in sweat and wondering if she’s actually going to die of exertion, Darcy lies flat on her back near a punching bag while Natasha reclines on a bench against a wall. They’d spent a good thirty minutes in front of a punching bag and her arms (upper body strength is not a thing she possessed in spades) felt very near to falling off.

“You did well, Lewis, better than I had expected, especially considering how hung over Clint was after your late night rendezvous,” Natasha comments, voice tinged with humor

“Yeah, well,” Darcy groans. “I think he got his revenge.”

Natasha chuckles and there’s a brief, but comfortable silence as Darcy lies, recovering. Once she could feel her arms again, she would perhaps be able to admit that their little training exercise had actually been kind of… fun.

“I didn’t have a lot of choice, in becoming what I am,” Natasha says, voice pitched low, drawing Darcy from her thoughts, “but my skills… well, they do allow me a different sort of freedom and they keep me alive. You’ve been dragged into this mess, whether you like it or not, and it’s very likely you’ll never completely escape it. You’ve got a target on your back, Darcy Lewis, and you’ve got two choices: hope that others will protect you, or learn how to protect yourself.”

Darcy draws in a sharp breath as Natasha basically hits on every single one of her fears with gentle but undeniable precision. Mostly she’s been attempting to avoid thinking too deeply about her situation, probably in an effort to convince herself that things would eventually go back to normal, even as a growing pit in her stomach insisted otherwise.

“Why are you helping me?” she asks finally.

“Partially because Clint badgered me into it,” Natasha says with a soft laugh, “but now… well, you remind me of someone. Someone I knew a long time ago.”

Darcy turns her head to look up and over at the woman reclined casually against the wall. She can’t help but wonder how many people Natasha has killed, how many people she’s hurt, but also how many she’s saved and protected. She wonders if it’s worth it to her.

“What happened to them? This person I remind you of, I mean.”

Natasha quirks a sad smile. “They died.”

Awesome. Great.

Darcy swallows and considers, looking away and back at the arching ceiling with its steel support beams and streams of sunlight. Aside from all the heavy, deeply frightening implications, she really _doesn’t_ have anything better to do aside from play video games, harass Vision, and eat ice cream. Maybe, for the moment at least, she’ll focus on that.

“Okay, so, you teach me to kick ass, and then what?”

“Well, that’s for you to decide, but it would go a long way toward getting your life back, I think.”

Darcy takes a deep breath, something akin to determination burning in her chest. “Alright, well, let’s do this… I mean maybe not right now, because I don’t think even an alien invasion could get me to move right now.”

Natasha just laughs and walks over to help her up. “Come on, let’s get something to eat.”

-

-

Clint has the grace to train with her when Nat can’t, and he’s not particularly phased by her accusations of trust broken and emotional wounds. He plies her with coffee and the occasional contraband donut (along with her training, Nat has issued a nutritional guide that basically cuts all the remaining joy out of her life) so she begrudgingly forgives him.

Clint runs with her along the indoor track nearly every morning, somehow managing to be encouraging without being obnoxious and pushy, and he slowly and methodically teaches her how to beat the shit out of someone. His style is a bit different than Nat’s. Like if Natasha is a kungfu master, Clint is the drunken Samurai. Occasionally sloppy, a bit belligerent, but effective in a way that Darcy connects with, despite her silent dreams of being a sensual spy/assassin like Nat.

Athletic isn’t the sort of word Darcy would typically associate with herself, but she finds that exercise with a purpose aside from ‘ _omg, bikini season!’_ is actually kind of cool. Which doesn’t mean that she doesn’t complain, _a lot_ , but as the first week turns into three, her body starts to adjust and she actually kind of hits her stride. She learns how to punch, she learns how to fall in a way that lets her get right back up, and she even manages to learn a bit of kickboxing.

She will never, _ever_ enjoy running, however. Just, _fuck_ running. Fuck it so hard.

-

-

For some weird reason, distance seems to help her relationship with Ben.

He texts her throughout the day, asking how she’s doing, telling her about his life down at City Hall, where he works for the Mayor, and sends her GIFs and Memes to make her laugh. It’s nice… actually. Nicer than it’s been in the months prior. Some insistent part of her wonders if maybe she’s clinging to him, to their relationship, because it’s her only outside link to the real world. But she’s getting really good at ignoring that particular voice.

They talk on the phone almost every night and when he accepts that there just isn’t much she can say about her circumstances, he tells her about his day and the petty drama of the office and it probably shouldn’t be so nice to listen to, but it is. It really, really is. Everything about her life is so fucked up right now that the normalcy of it gives her some hope that maybe, someday, things will sort themselves out.

Also, it’s a pretty solid distraction from how her entire body hurts _all the goddamn time_. She’s rocking a pretty hefty bruise on one thigh (thanks Clint, you dick) that makes movement hard, so she picks up her phone and gratefully listens to how Evan is probably banging Carla in the supply closet.

“Listen, Darcy,” Ben says as Darcy begrudgingly makes herself a protein shake. What has the world come to? Seriously.

“I was thinking, after all this is over that, well…. maybe,” Darcy’s frozen, her heart thumping a warning against her chest. “Well that maybe we could move in together. It’s been over a year, and well, it just seems like the next logical step.”

Darcy tries to think of the right thing to say, the right thing to feel. Jesus, she’s learning kick boxing from the Black Widow and her boyfriend of nearly two years asks her to move in with him and she can’t deal. There is something seriously wrong with her priorities.

“Y-yeah, definitely the logical next step,” she says tonelessly, turning to lean a hip against the counter, weirdly pissed at him. Things had been going so good, damn it. But, she considers begrudgingly, that’s probably super selfish of her. She might be appreciating the new closeness weirdly brought about by their separation, but she can totally understand that he probably doesn’t feel the same.

“So you will?” Ben asks, a hopeful tilt to his voice that makes Darcy feel like a piece of shit.

“I mean, I’m probably gonna be stuck here for a while,” she rushes out, rubbing a hand over her face, “but yeah… sure, when all of this is over.” For the first time since she’d been hauled out of a bathroom and shot, Darcy finds herself rather dreading the prospect.

“That’s great, Darcy!” Ben gushes. “I’ll start looking at apartments, you know, just to get an idea. I know you don’t have too much control over your situation right now.”

“Sure Ben, that sounds… great.”

Later, Nat comments on her tenacity at the punching bag and Darcy bites her lip, not wanting to burden all these super people with her bullshit when they have real _actual_ problems that go waaaay beyond her commitment issues.

Maybe, Darcy thinks as she throws another hard right hook, it’s just finally time for her to grow up.

-

-

It’s not that Darcy didn’t _know_ there was some crazy, fucked up shit going on in the world while she chipped away at her Master’s degree, it’s just that she sort of kind of actively tried to pretend it was out of her sphere of control and interest.

Jane was pretty far removed from everything, sequestered away with her research, which meant Darcy didn’t have much to worry about on that front, and Thor was a literal _god_ , so while she didn’t enjoy seeing footage of him banged up and in danger, she was pretty confident he’d come out alright. Plus, the whacko loved a good fight, crazy guy probably loved every second of it.

It was pretty hard to miss an entire city being picked up and then dropped back to earth, so she at least had a sense of how screwed up everything was, but being in an entirely different country, it all seemed pretty unreal. SHIELD’s fall from grace, on the other hand, had been pretty politicized, and, especially for someone with a degree in political science, Darcy’d spent an awful lot of time trying not to think too hard about it. She’d just assumed SHIELD would pick itself back up again and make sure some crazy dude didn’t off her or that Loki didn’t show up at her apartment. Apparently she had assumed wrong.  

One night, after a long day of learning how to properly kick something so she didn’t break her foot, she spends about two minutes in front of her computer, looking at ( _really_ looking at) a series of news reports from the fall of SHIELD. It’s pretty much all she can handle. Darcy could make a career of avoiding things she didn’t want to deal with –well, actually, there’s a pretty good chance she already has- and the sheer obviousness of how bad the situation really is makes her want to curl up under her bed and never come out again.

She puts on Aladdin (her favorite Disney movie) huddles down on her couch, and tries to forget the images of a bruised and battered Captain America and how it makes her feel a little bit less petulant about her situation, and him. Kinda hard to hate a guy who frequently saves the world and nearly dies in the effort, even if he still won’t let her leave the compound.

-

-

“Vision!” Darcy calls in a grating singsong as she bursts into the medical lab two months after her arrival. “I just got the new Mortal Kombat and we are _totally_ going to rock the shit out of it-“ She looks up and cuts off immediately as she’s regarded coolly by a very pretty woman with long red hair and a killer pants suit who is standing suspiciously close to Vision.

“Oh uh, sorry. Didn’t mean to like… interrupt?” Darcy offers, not at all sure what to think.

Vision smiles and, for once, it looks almost natural on his face. The woman steps a bit away from him, her cheeks flushing a bit. Darcy can’t quite get a sense how old she is, but there is something about her that screams Sixteen Candles.

“Miss Lewis, how pleasant to see you this evening. How are you feeling?”

Darcy rocks back on her heels. “Good, good. I mean, Natasha is still beating the shit out of me, but other than a pretty kickass scar, I seem good as new.”

There’s an awkward sort of pause and Darcy jerks her thumb over her shoulder and shuffles backward. “Okay, well, I’ll just get going, let you two get back to, uh, whatever it was you were doing.”

“Wait, please,” the woman (girl?) says in a thick Eastern European accent before Darcy can make her escape. She’s got that whole smudged eyeliner thing down to an art, Darcy thinks as she turns, fixing a smile on her face.

The woman looks to Vision, who gives her an encouraging nod, and Darcy starts questioning all her assumptions about the red-skinned guy. “My name is Wanda. It is very nice to meet you, Darcy, Vision has told me much of you. He… he says you are good with the computers and that you may be able to help me.”

Darcy flushes and shrugs a bit. “I’m alright, got a bit rusty over the last few years, but I’m sure it’s like riding a bike.”

Wanda offers her an uneasy smile that’s filled with such an honest and uncertain kind of hope that Darcy decides she likes the girl, then and there. “I would be most grateful to you.”

“Pish,” Darcy says, fluttering a hand at her. “No big deal, you want me to take a look now or maybe later?”

Wanda darts another glance at Vision and bites her lip, a flush rising in her cheeks. Oh boy, Darcy is going to have some choice questions for the little bastard. He’s definitely been holding out on her.

“Later, if that is alright.”

“Of course,” Darcy says with a sly smile at Vision who looks as Zen and unaffected as ever. “I’m in room twelve on the second floor, two down from Jane and Thor.”

Wanda brightens. “Then it seems we are neighbors.”

Darcy beams. “Hey! Awesome! We can have movie nights and stuff!” Score one for non-alien neighbors, though, considering where she is, Wanda is most likely anything but normal.

-

-

“Why would Rory not stay with Dean? This Jess is clearly unstable,” Wanda says with an adorably perplexed frown, perched on Darcy’s couch.

Darcy swallows her mouthful of popcorn and waves at the T.V. “Jess has a def bad boy vibe going on, and he is _seriously_ hot. Like, the hottest of all Rory’s boyfriends, I think.”

Wanda smiles a little and shakes her head like she doesn’t quite understand. The computer she’d brought over, some high powered monstrosity of Stark’s design, sits on the coffee table alongside a bunch of notes Wanda had taken in a language that was probably Romanian (Russian?). It’s super adorable how dedicated her new friend is to understanding technology, especially after explaining how she and her brother had always been too poor to own computers, subsequently making Darcy feel pretty god damn lucky.

They watch a few more episodes of Gilmore Girls, Darcy explaining any references Wanda might not catch, before Darcy yawns and the other woman quickly excuses herself. She feels a bit bad, but her training makes her a zombie by pretty much eight p.m. every night, turning her into a total old lady.

“Thank you Darcy,” Wanda says a bit shyly as she clutches her computer and notes to her chest and Darcy sees her to the door. “It has been a long time since, I well… I-”

“Had a friend?” Darcy offers with a kind smile, holding the door open for her.

Wanda starts, like she isn’t quite sure what the word means, and her answering smile is actually kind of heart breaking. “Yes… a friend. Good night, Darcy.”

“Night, Wanda, you’re welcome over anytime, okay? Even if you don’t need computer help or whatever.”

“Thank you. I would very much like to see what happens between Luke and Lorelai, they are clearly meant for one another.”

"Oh my god, I _know_ right?!”

-

Life as a fulltime captive in protective custody is really, _really_ boring. Her training with Nat definitely helps, but there are just far too many hours in the day where she sits around basically doing nothing. While sheer laziness is nice at first, especially after the life sucking insanity that was grad school, it definitely loses its charm when she finds herself at the end of the internet with no place left to go. There are only so many cute cat videos.

So it’s pretty much no surprise that she ends up back in the lab with Jane.

“Aww, you shouldn’t have,” Jane coos teasingly over her unwrapped gift; a box of cinnamon Pop Tarts.

Darcy beams and plops into a rolling desk chair, catching herself on the edge of the table before she can roll off across the room. “I didn’t, well, not personally. Some poor shmuck had to run off to Wal-Mart or something and pick them up for you.” She reaches out and plucks the bow from the top of the box and puts it atop Jane’s head.

Jane pats her hand and snorts. “It’s the thought that counts,” she says and then hesitates, looking away and back, her eyes taking on a distinct puppyish quality. “So, I know I have assistants with, well, _actual_ science degrees, but they are completely _awful_ at paperwork and organization and no one else can ever read my notes or edit my reports-“

“Chill, lady,” Darcy says with a smile she can’t quite suppress, “ _yes_ I’ll come help out, okay? It’s not like I have much else to do but work on getting all the achievements in Dragon Age and letting Barton attempt to murder me via squats and bench press.”

Jane squeals with delight and Darcy waggles a finger at her. “This is _not_ a long term thing, though, so don’t get too comfortable ordering me around again. As soon as good ol’ Captain Spangly pants clears me for active duty, I’m high tailing it out of this dump and getting back to reality.”

“And Ben?” Jane asks with a knowing little smile. The woman isn’t always terribly observant of others, especially when it comes to their relationship issues, but occasionally she steps in with a real zinger. Darcy flinches a bit, tugging at the knit hat on her head and pulling it down over her ears more. Why were science labs always so damn cold?

“And Ben, I guess,” –Jane arches a brow and Darcy sighs- “Things will just be weird after he saw me kidnapped and shot at, okay?”

Jane throws up her hands, still smirking. “Hey, I get it. Relationships are weird at the best of times.”

“You’re dating a Norse space god with biceps the size of my thighs, dude, your version of weird and my version of weird are _very_ different.”

Jane sighs dreamily, doing a lazy spin in her lab chair. “Those biceps make up for a lot, believe me.”

Darcy smirks and reclines backwards, coffee mug clutched between her hands. “Nice place you got here, by the way, a real step up from an old car dealership in the middle of the desert. Not a hint of duct tape in sight.”

Jane sighs dejectedly, popping her present open and pulling a shiny foil bag from within. The nostalgia is so thick that Darcy nearly chokes on it. “Tony said he’d take away my flow reactor if he caught me taping things together again.”

“I’m all for workplace explosions,” says a weirdly familiar voice, “but four in two weeks is a bit much, Foster, even for me. Something had to be done. Besides, you know how I like spending extravagant sums of money.”

Darcy whirls in her chair to find Tony Stark reclining casually in the doorway.

“Huh,” Darcy says, a bit shocked. “You’re shorter than I thought you’d be.”

Stark’s eyes narrow. “Friday, you put her up to that, didn’t you?”

“I assure you I did not, Mr. Stark,” Friday replies, sounding faintly exasperated.

He and Darcy appraise one another for another long moment before he seems to deem her worthy of his presence and glides across the room. “You must be Darcy the Intern,” he says, and extends a hand. “Dr. Foster here won’t shut up about you. You’re, uh, boobier than I thought you’d be.” Tony waves his other hand down at her chest, which is covered by a thick knit sweater. Only a tent or maybe a very large poncho could hide the girls, unfortunately.  It’s both a gift and a curse.

“And who are you, exactly? Member of the cleaning crew, maybe one of the new hires?” she says with a frown and takes his hand, shaking it. She’s seen his face plastered all over the internet and T.V. for last ten years or so, but there’s something different about it in person. He seems both older and younger than he did on the news, his eyes carrying a quiet sort of weight she hadn’t expected.

“Cheeky, Lewis, I like it,” Stark says, releasing her and leaning a hip on a lab bench as Jane rolls her eyes. “How’s prison treating you?”

Darcy shrugs, not really sure what to say. It seems stupid to complain about free rent and all the food, movies and video games she can handle, even if it comes at the price of not being allowed outside the building. “Well, Natasha and Clint have made me their pet project, so I’ve got that going for me.”

Stark pulls a face. “You poor thing. Anyone forced to spend more than ten minutes with Barton deserves a medal.”

“Funny, he said the same thing about you.”

Jane snorts, and swallows a mouthful of Pop Tart, crumbs scattered across her plain V-neck shirt. “Do you two want me to leave? Give you a few minutes to work out the pissing contest?”

Darcy blinks at Jane innocently. “Pissing contests are only fun if there’s a _witness_ , Jane.”

Stark claps, beaming like he’s just discovered a new shiny toy. “I like her, Jane, let’s keep her, like a yappy Chihuahua, but with boobs.”

“Literally everyone has warned me not to work for you, Stark.”

“Rude, I’m an excellent boss.”

Darcy can’t reply as she has to save Jane from choking to death while Stark sulks unconvincingly. Darcy’s pretty sure that Tony Stark is probably just the male version of herself and she’s not entirely sure how to feel about that.

Oh well, she reasons, just another issue/fear/worry to shove to the wayside. Man, that side of her brain is sure getting crowded, but actually _dealing_ with things just doesn’t seem plausible. Better to eternally run from her problems and ignore all the alarm bells running on a loop in her head.

She’s pretty sure Tony Massive-Emotional-Issues Stark will totally back her up on this one.

-

-

Stark doesn’t hang around the Avenger’s facility too often, having an entire Tower to rule over, but he comes by every few days to annoy and or harass them until Darcy finds she’s becoming alarmingly fond of the overcompensating idiot. Plus, he usually comes with coffee and pastries and it’s hard not to like a dude who brings eclairs and café lattes, made more endearing by the fact that he’s literally one of the richest (if not the richest?) people in the world and he brings them caffeine and snacks like it’s his joy in life. That, and annoying every single person he comes into contact with.

Again, he’s pretty much Darcy with a P instead of a V. Fortunately, it’s a fact that’s starting to bother her less and less, because under all the pretentious rich guy genius bullshit, Stark is actually a pretty nice and generous dude in his weird dysfunctional way. I mean if a BAMF like Pepper Potts can shack up with him, he can’t be _all_ bad.

Three months into her open ended sentence, Stark calls to demand their presence at the communal café area (okay, so there are a lot of perks to being a prisoner of the Avengers) and Darcy manages to extricate Jane away from some laser machine long enough to make the trek. It’s important to take your scientist on daily walks or they have a tendency to forget the world exists outside of their instruments and lab doors.

Stark and Jane mostly talk science –something about wormholes and nuclear bombs- while Darcy corners Wanda, looking set apart and uncertain in one corner of the room, insisting she stop by later to watch more trashy television. The other woman blushes, clearly pleased by the invitation, which makes some weirdly maternal part of Darcy want to like, hug and pet the other, fully grown human, and agrees.

Stark makes fun of her old Heart t-shirt, she flicks him off, and all in all it’s a pretty good start to her day, even after Clint banged on her door at four in the morning to force her to jog with him. The bastard.

“Stark’s theories on space and time are just ludicrous, the man should stick to building metal suits,” Jane grumbles as Darcy hums in agreement and takes a hearty sip of her coffee.   

She turns to look out idly over the walkway and into the foyer below, wondering if the cafeteria might have burritos for lunch, and immediately spews her mouthful from several stories up.  

Jane gapes in shock and then swiftly yanks Darcy away from the ledge as several angry casualties below them begin looking for their assailant. “Jesus, Darcy,” she whispers, “what the hell?”

Darcy, who is pretty sure she’s having a heart attack, clutches at Jane and pulls her down into an awkward hunch against the far wall of the walkway. “Holy shit dude, _holy shit!_ H-he’s here!”

Jane frowns, anger quickly turning to worry as she looks about them. “Who is here, Darcy? Are you okay, do I need to call security?”

Darcy swallows and shakes her head so hard she nearly sends her glasses flying, and then tugs Jane gracelessly along the walkway in an attempt to simultaneously get a better view and also hide herself.

“That guy I had a one night stand with like, three years ago, remember me telling you about him?” Darcy whispers loudly as concerned looking agents and scientists pass them by. She tosses her coffee in a nearby trash can, partially to get rid of evidence (one of the people she just unceremoniously spit coffee all over is a direct henchman of Agent Hill’s) and partially because she needs both hands for her total freak out. Thor save her, this is so insane.

Jane snorts as Darcy flings them both clumsily behind a column. “Of course I remember. You wouldn’t shut up about him for a solid month.”

Darcy peeks out from behind the concrete pillar, immediately gasps, and hides again while Jane peers curiously into the foyer below.

“Yeah well, he’s here. He’s totally here.”

“ _Who?”_ Jane half yells, her voice echoing so loud that heads bellow turn upwards in confusion as she steps out from behind the column with an exasperated wave of her hands. Darcy immediately yanks her back in.

“Oh my _God_ , dude! Stop it!” Darcy hisses, pressing Jane to her side so that the other woman’s face is half submerged in cleavage. “Okay, okay, don’t panic. Maybe he’s like… a janitor or something. Security detail maybe? I mean we _did_ meet at Stark’s club so that makes sense...” She’s babbling, she knows that, but she is totally at a loss.

Jane attempts to extricate herself from her booby prison. “I swear to God, Darcy, if you don’t tell me who the hell you are talking about in the next five seconds-“

Darcy slaps a hand over Jane’s mouth and shifts them around the pillar. Jane glares at her, saying some choice words against the palm of her hand, Darcy‘s sure, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

They are definitely drawing some looks, she realizes belatedly as two Agents in full gear stop to peer at her with narrowed eyes. The last thing she needs is everyone thinking she’s attempting to steal one of their lead scientists.  Darcy relents with a long sigh.

“Okay, okay they’re headed toward the east wing, the blonde one with all the muscles.” Darcy releases Jane’s face and jerks her thumb over her shoulder, pressing herself flat against the pillar like maybe it might yield and let her sink into it or something.

Jane frowns, sneaks a peak, and freezes, a very strange expression on her face.

Darcy immediately panics. “Oh my god, is he coming this way? _Shit._ ” She tries to make a break for it, but Jane’s hand clamps with an iron will on her forearm. She’s actually surprisingly strong for so small a person.

“Darcy… are you _sure_ that’s the guy?” Jane breathes, eyes wide.

Darcy swallows and chances a glance. It’s not entirely impossible that she just imagined him, she supposes.

Steve of the Great Ass, looking _mouthwatering_ in loose fitted jeans and a tight fitting blue t-shirt, is talking seriously with a group of agents who appear to be hanging off his every word. Considering he’s appeared frequently in her fantasies, even after three years, it’s pretty hard to mistake him for anyone else.

“Yup,” she hisses, retreating. “Yup, that’s definitely him.”

Jane still looks stunned, kind of shell-shocked even, and Darcy decides to be offended. “Okay, so he’s totally out of my league, you don’t need to look so fucking _shocked_ about it-“ Jane interrupts her by grabbing Darcy with both hands, her expression a tad wild and sort of… excited?

“Jesus Christ, _Darcy_ , do you have any idea who that _is_?”

Darcy, a bit stunned by the sudden physical violence, blinks and shakes her head. “What, is he like, some crazy assassin or something? Because that would actually be pretty cool. Fucked up, yeah, but still cool.”

A smirk spreads slowly across Jane’s face. It’s vaguely terrifying. “Darcy, that’s Steve _Rogers_ . That’s _Captain America_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is! The moment you all have been waiting for! Thoughts?


End file.
